Tales from Pemberley and Other Short Stories
by LeenieBrown
Summary: This is a collection of short stories inspired by the work of Jane Austen. Eventually, these stories may find their way into published collections, but for now, they will remain here waiting for others to join them and providing you with some small, sweet doses of entertainment.
1. Though the Universe Conspires

George Darcy looked once again at his watch. Half an hour...half an hour late! He sighed in frustration. He had begun his preparations with ample time to be ready and arrive at the ball on time if not early. He tucked his watch back in the pocket of his waist coat and rubbed his temples. Everything had seemed to conspire against him. A pulled thread in his breeches that required a new pair to be found, a dribble of wine on his cravat...all small things that required very little time to fix, but when combined had caused him to be late. He wished that the traffic was less, that the line of carriages waiting to deposit their cargo at the entrance to Matlock House would suddenly disappear.

Finally, his carriage stopped in front of the entrance, and a footman opened the door and lowered the steps. George climbed out of the carriage.

"About time you got here." Henry Fitzwilliam, Viscount Brantworth, was leaning against one of the large columns in front of the door. "I thought perhaps you had decided against meeting her." He scowled at Darcy.

"I gave my word, Fitzwilliam. I should think you would have more faith in me than that," he replied flatly. "Now that I am here, can we get on with this? After the frustrations of getting here, I have a devil of a headache forming."

"I know you are not fond of society, Darcy, but she is not like the other debs. And I am not saying that just because she is my sister."

"Is she like your other sister, Lady Catherine?" Darcy gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. Catherine, who had come out two years ago, had, upon learning of his wealth and estate, set her cap at Darcy and had made his season nearly unbearable as he had been forced to spend much of his time dodging her attacks. He never knew when she would creep up beside him and attach herself to his arm. Thankfully, she had found another gentleman with a slightly larger bank account that she found even more attractive and had married him.

Fitzwilliam laughed. "No, Anne is nothing like Catherine. They are quite opposites. I really do believe you and she will get along quite well."

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. "Then lead on my good man. My fate awaits."

No truer words had been spoken. One look was all it took to capture Darcy's interest in Fitzwilliam's sister. A young lady with soft golden coloured hair and sparkling eyes of blue was surrounded by gentlemen vying for her attention. She stood nearly as tall as most and even taller than some of the gentlemen.

Fitzwilliam slipped in among the gentlemen and extracted his sister.

"Thank God you came when you did, Henry. I was running out of insignificant topics of conversation. Why must men demand unintelligent wives? And must I continue giggling? It is quite an annoying sound."

"No, you do not need to continue giggling, and I suggest you think of some significant topics of conversation, for I have found a gentleman who cannot abide giggling girls and shuns insignificant discourse."

"Is he very old and boring?" questioned Anne.

"He is my age and my very good friend so how could he be boring?"

Anne narrowed her eyes at her brother and was about to retort when she saw him. He was handsome and not old at all. He was tall and stood proudly with his shoulders thrown back not like some men of great height that seemed to slouch forward to join the ranks of those who were considered of desirable height. His hair and eyes were dark and there was, despite his grand presence, a gentleness in his expression.

"Close your mouth, sister mine," whispered Fitzwilliam. "I am sure mother would find staring agape at any young gentleman to be unsupportable, even one with as fine a bank account and as beautiful an estate as George Darcy."

"George Darcy?" Anne whispered. "He is the gentleman you arranged to have meet me? Is he not the gentleman that so ardently avoided Catherine?"

Fitzwilliam nodded. "One and the same."

"Will he not also wish to avoid me since I am her sister?"

"You are her sister, but you are nothing like her, Anne. You are just the type of lady my friend prefers." He took three hurried steps toward his friend ending the conversation with his sister before she could mount any further protests. "Darcy," he said pulling a blushing Anne up to stand next to him. "May I present my sister, Lady Anne Fitzwilliam. Anne this is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire."

Darcy bowed and stumbled over his greeting before apologizing for his late arrival. Finally, after some nudging by Fitzwilliam, the two were standing up next to each other preparing to dance.

"I thought you had changed your mind and did not wish to meet me," said Anne as they waited for the music to begin.

"Though all the forces of the universe conspire against me, if I say I will be by your side, I will happily be by your side." He smiled charmingly at her and his eyes seemed to convey a promise of a place near his side forever.

Six months later, Darcy once again grumbled as he looked at his watch. Ten minutes, ten minutes late! He was certain that all would be at the church waiting for him and thinking that he was going to jilt Anne at the altar. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, and he tugged at his cravat. Again, he had run into small problems that had converged to cause his lateness.

He jumped from his carriage as it slowed before the church. Seeing Fitzwilliam waiting for him, he held up a hand to silence whatever remark might be forthcoming.

"Point me to the door, Fitzwilliam, and then extend my apologies to Lord Matlock and Anne and notify them that I am indeed here." He ran in the direction indicated and burst into the side room at the front of the church startling the parson who was pacing and wringing his hands.

Darcy's breath was returning to normal as Fitzwilliam entered the room wearing a large grin. "Your dog truly tried to run away with the ring?"

Darcy nodded. "Just one of the mishaps that slowed my arrival."

"Your father is regaling my father and sister with the tale of those mishaps. I do not know who is laughing the most. It may take a few moments for my sister to regain her composure, but we should probably be standing at the front of the church when they open the doors." He nodded to the parson and motioned for he and Darcy to precede him into the church.

"I thought you had changed your mind and did not wish to marry me after all," said Anne as she and Darcy took their places at the wedding breakfast.

"Though all the forces of the universe conspire against me, I will not be dissuaded from being at your side." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "Forever."


	2. Lawrence, the Lonely Viscount

[Note: Lawrence Fitzwilliam, Viscount Brantworth is the heir to Lord Matlock in my novel, _Oxford Cottage_.)

 _Loneliness is an interesting feeling_ , he thought, _not always an unwelcome or unpleasant feeling, but always interesting_. This time was no different. There was no longing for company, no hurt that needed solace, no feeling of unrest, just a quietness that was welcoming, comforting, restorative. The breeze blew softly making the leaves of the tree he lay under tremble slightly as the long grasses tipped their hats to him. Lawrence Fitzwilliam, Viscount Brantworth, bent his right leg and propped his left foot atop his knee. His arms were crossed behind his head acting as pillow. He closed his eyes and drank in the tranquility that surrounded him. This was what he needed. He needed to be alone, to withdraw from life for a few brief moments and contemplate in lonely seclusion-far away from the house, past the edges of the formal gardens, hidden in the rolling countryside.

He had known she would never be his, but to have her married and so happily so, did sting just a bit. There was not another like her. He was nearly certain of it. How many years had he been parading through the seasons with nothing to show for it but a little more apathy, a bit harder edges, a heart that seemed less and less touchable. He sighed. There were others, not as lively as she, but acceptable and perhaps even lovable.

He switched legs, propping his right foot on his left knee. Did he even know what it was to feel love? He had felt strong, protective feeling for her, but were they really any greater than those he had for his own sisters? He found her attractive, that was different from how he thought of his sisters, but attraction did not equate to love. He had been saddened when she had refused his offer of marriage, but he had not been shattered. He had not even felt melancholy. He had actually been somewhat relieved-relieved enough that he had almost wholly sworn off all strong drink so that he would not find himself in such a situation in the future. No, he had not loved her, not in the way a husband was to love a wife. He had loved the idea of her. Someone who would always be eager to listen and share his deepest concerns and greatest joys. Someone who could arouse a feeling of desire.

He swatted at a fly that buzzed near his ear. _Annoying creatures. Not unlike some of the ladies of the ton. Buzzing and flapping about with no purpose but to drive you to distraction._ There was one, on the outer edges of the ton, that piqued his interest. She could buzz and flap with the best of them. He had watched her do so in many of the finest rooms in London. He knew that it was to garner the attentions of his cousin. He had on more than one occasion seen her glue herself to his cousin's arm and babble on about things of no importance. She had pursued his cousin, it is true, but not with a heartfelt-longing for the man himself. There had been disappointment when she learned of his cousin's betrothal, but there had been no headaches or other complaints of malady that bespoke a love-sick heart. She was obviously looking for position and wealth in marriage. She was the sort of woman from whom men of his rank ran-the fortune hunter.

He sat and stretched out his legs while leaning back on his hands. Was that all the interest she had in him? Had she spent hours with him as they waited news of Elizabeth and Georgiana's safety just to engage his interest so that she might have a chance at his money and title? He shook his head. No, she had not pursued him. She had never crossed the room to sit beside him. She had never laid claim to his arm in the manner she had with his cousin. She had waited for him to approach her, for him to offer his arm. He had seen her eyes follow him around a room, only to dart away when he looked her direction, and she had coloured in embarrassment. When he had engaged her in conversation, her speech had on several occasions faltered, something that did not happen when she spoke to others. Perhaps...a faint ember of hope ignited in his heart...perhaps, she felt attraction to him as a man and not as a viscount of substantial fortune.

Attraction was but one part of choosing a marriage partner. His father had made sure that all his children knew that fact. If he could not prove to his father an attachment beyond attraction, his father would not give his blessing to such a union. But, attraction was a first small move toward the eventual loss of his current single state-not his attraction to be questioned, for he had no trouble feeling attraction to many a pretty lady, but her attraction to be scrutinized to assure it was attraction to something other than his current and future titles or his fortune.

He stood and smoothed his clothing, making sure to remove any leaves or blades of grass that may have attached themselves to his jacket or trousers. Assured that he looked presentable, he strode to his horse and took his seat. Slowly, he nudged his mount into a steady cantor. He looked back down the fence line of the adjacent field where his brother and cousin often rode as if the devil were in pursuit. He shook his head. He was certain he would never understand the need to race forward whether on horse or in a relationship. A steady pace, calm and assuring, that would keep solidly to the prescribed path. That is what he needed, was it not?

He turned his horse toward Netherfield. Loneliness was indeed an interesting, shifting feeling. The loneliness that he had sought, the peace that it had brought, the clarity of mind that it had helped him achieve, had been replaced by a dissatisfaction with his current state and with a desire to leave a certain type of loneliness behind. Impatience accompanied this loneliness. It compelled him to urge his horse to gallop more quickly. There was a lady of interest that he wished to know better. Now was not the time for a leisurely ride about the countryside. A laugh escaped him as he felt a longing to allow his horse to chase the wind back to the wedding breakfast. _Loneliness_ , he thought, _is fickle. Not only can it provide tranquility, it seems it can also provide motivation._


	3. Percival the Frog

[Note: This is a story that might have been added by Bennet's father to the book he and Elizabeth received in my novel, _Oxford Cottage_.]

Bennet scampered into the room. "Mama, Mama. Look at the frog, Mama!" He shoved a muddy, wiggling creature under his mother's nose. "I found him near the pond. He was hard to catch." His small face shone with triumph. Globs of mud dripped from his hands unto the floor. His feet were shoeless and a trail of muddy prints formed a trail from the door to the sitting room.

"Marie, there appears to be no need for the search party; the young master has found us. Please, instruct someone to draw a bath." Elizabeth spoke to the nurse maid that stood at her side, mouth agape. "Bennet, do not move." She gave him a stern stare. "Roger, a container with a lid, please." The footman quickly fetched a small lidded crock. She pointed to the frog. "I believe, Bennet's new friend would much rather be back at the pond with his family instead of in my house." The footman carefully placed the crock under Bennet's hands and the lid above. With a pout, Bennet released the frog, and Roger secured the lid before the frog could make an escape.

"Thank you, Master Bennet. I shall return your friend to his family where he can await your next visit." Roger smiled at Elizabeth and gave a bow. Elizabeth bit the side of her cheek to keep from smiling in return.

"Roger, could you please alert Mrs. Reynolds that my floors are unfortunately in need of some attention."

"Very well, Madame." He stepped gingerly across the muddy trail, the crock held firmly in his hands.

Elizabeth turned to her son. "It seems you have lost your shoes, my child. Are they still at the pond?" Bennet nodded his head. "And your socks, they are there as well?" Again, Bennet nodded his head. "And you found a friend at the pond?" Bennet's eyes sparkled and his head bounced up and down.

Elizabeth sighed. She found it very difficult to look into those eyes, the eyes that reminded her so much of his father when he laughed, and remain stern. She pulled her brows together and looked at the mud that covered the floor and her son; she really must chide him for his thoughtlessness. "You have created a great deal of extra work for many people, son. There are servants who will now have to spend time washing a floor that has already been washed and drawing a bath that did not have to be drawn." The sparkle was gone from his eyes in an instant, and he furrowed his brows; another expression so like his father. Elizabeth's heart pinched. She knew he needed to learn to be responsible, but she would not allow that sparkle to be lost. How long had it taken her to get his father's eyes to sparkle in amusement? She placed her hands on her hips and scowled down at her son. "And then there are those who will have to attempt to get the mud out of your clothing and mine."

"Your clothes are not muddy, Mama."

"Not yet," said Elizabeth. Then, she scooped him up. "Now, they are muddy. Did you think I would allow you to walk any further? That would have only created more work for the servants. A master must always treat those within his employ with kindness and respect. Creating unnecessary work is neither kind nor respectful."

Bennet snuggled his face into his mother's neck and wrapped his muddy arms around her. "Sorry, Mama."

"I am not the person that needs to hear those words."

Bennet looked up at his mother, a questioning look upon his face.

"It is not I who shall have to do all the extra work, my son. After we retrieve your shoes and socks, and you take a dip in the pond to remove some of this mud, we shall return to the house, and you will bathe. Then, I shall come see you in the nursery, and we shall devise a plan to compensate the servants who have done extra work today due to your actions. Do you understand?"

Bennet nodded his head against his mother's chest.

"It was a fine frog though, my son." She kissed the top of his head. "There is a book in the library that has several drawing of frogs. Perhaps we could look at that later? And maybe you could draw me a picture of your friend?"

A smile broke out across Bennet's face. "His name is Percival. But I call him Percy."

Elizabeth chuckled as she carried her son out of the house. He continued to relate to her the great effort that went into the capturing of Percy.

Darcy watched from the door that attached his study to the sitting room. He never tired of watching his wife no matter what she was doing, but the way she had instructed his son about how to treat those in his employ without damaging his spirit was enchanting. Mrs. Reynolds approached him, towels in hand. Darcy shrugged out of his coat and removed his waist coat. He exchanged them with his housekeeper for the towels.

"I have asked Sally to draw a bath for Mrs. Darcy. Will she be needing Sally's assistance, sir?" Mrs. Reynolds asked with a playful glint in her eye.

Darcy smiled at the elderly woman who was more mother to him than servant. "No, I think we can manage."

She chuckled. "Good. It is about time Master Bennet had a sibling."

Darcy bent and whispered in her ear, "If I am correct, he shall have one very soon, but since I have not been told, one must not shirk his duty." He chuckled at her gasp. "Now, I am off to meet Percival and offer to carry my young scamp of a son back to the house so his mother does not have to do it." He hoped that the visit with the frog would not take too long. He was rather looking forward to helping his wife remove the mud from her neck.


End file.
